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# The Soul of Salamandrus

#### by Mark D F Shirley and Phil J Tollinton

The copyright of this article remains with the original author. Articles may be copied or distributed freely for personal non-profit use, provided that the author is properly credited.

Explanatory note: The following story is the product of an e-mail solo adventure run when a character in my Saga, Salamandrus of Tremere (played by Phil Tollinton), entered Twilight by botching a powerful Vim spell in a faerie Aura. Salamandrus was already laden with Twilight Points, and I didn't want to lose the character from the saga so soon, so I conducted this story. More about Salamandrus can be found here (part of the Malinbois Web Site). Salamandrus disappeared after the botch and was believed dead, but a later expedition to the mountain found him returned, but changed by his experiences.

The following story was inspired by The Hero's Journey, a metamyth (a myth found in many disparate cultures in various forms), where the hero of the story journeys into the Otherworld to win the hand of the Goddess. Throughout this story, the hero is faced with decisions. These decisions determine how the story will end. In this story, each decision made makes the situation either better or worse. For more on the Hero's Journey, I recommend The Hero With A Thousand Faces by Joseph Campbell. As Salamandrus was English, I also drew upon The Way of Wyrd by Brian Bates for much of the imagery in this story. The pieces in italics were Phil's responses.

Now, to the story…

~oOo~

Salamandrus awakes to initially unfamiliar surroundings. As his eyes adjust to the dark, he realises that he is in a very familiar place indeed. He is back in Lannwich, in Anglia, curled up on the wooden pallet that served as his bed for the 8 years prior to his abduction by the Magus Argiopus.

He could feel the bruises on the back of his neck, where his father had beaten him for dropping the Bread. He could feel the tightness of the scars on his cheeks, where his aunt Matilda cut his face for the Blood. Suddenly, he was no longer Salamandrus, a Magus of House Tremere and a Member of the Order of Hermes, but once more a frightened Anglian lad called Jon, hiding in a ramshackle hut on the edge of Lannwich Marsh, hoping desperately that the moon won't rise tonight, preventing the ritual from going ahead. He might as well ask for the Devil to relinquish his soul...

Jon, feeling very confused, takes a peek out of the window to see if there is anybody around and to view the state of the moon. A feeling of blind panic came over him as he spots the swollen moon. Jon realises that he had two choices: Hope to high heaven that something will happen and he is not found, or to make a break for it. He made a flash choice to make a break for it. In his state of panic, he ran for the door, opens it a crack and takes a look.

All around, in the distance, he can see the witch-fires of All-Hallows Eve, burning for most to frighten off the spirits of the dead. To Jon, they have another meaning - there will be a High Rite tonight. To the east is the sea. To the north, south and west there is only the Marsh - cold, foreboding and dangerous - especially tonight.

Wending its way towards the cluster of huts that make up Lannwich, Jon sees a line of men, carrying torches. He is sure that he is the only one witnessing this event - all of Lannwich's other residents will be firmly locked up in their hovels, praying fervently for Deliverance. The men have a stiff-legged gait which causes them to sway as they walk, and they swing their mask-clad heads at the same time. The hideous devil-masks shine blood red in the torch-light. At the head of the line, Jon recognises the mask of his father. Like the others it is woven from straw, but affixed to its crown are the split horns of Farmer Eller's missing heifer, and the attached raven feathers have been daubed with blood. With the cold chill of certainty, Jon knows that they are coming for him. He must not delay.

Realising that to enter the Marsh at this time of night with little light would be dangerous, he decides to head towards the sea. Jon pulls the cowl of his robe around his face to stop the light shining off he silver mask that hid his hideous face, and heads off. The black robe makes Jon difficult to see in the dark, but he does not look back to see if his movements are noticed. Stumbling towards the sea shore, sanity begins to return to Jon's mind. He reasons that either he may be able to find somewhere to hide, or at least he may be able to escape his father along the sea shore.

The terrain is rough, and difficult to traverse in the dark. However, swift movement is possible, as at this stage Jon is none to concerned about grazed shins. Behind him he can hear an uproar - his father has discovered that he is missing. Concentrating too hard on what is going on behind, Jon nearly stumbles off the edge of the bank that he is running along, which falls away sharply due to wave action on the sand. It is high tide, and there is not much shore left. Hesitating for a moment, Jon wonders whether to go north or south.

Cursing his bad luck, Jon looks both north and south. Both ways lead to marshland and water are not Jon's favourite element. With the line of men behind him and the sea in front, Jon starts to panic again. His only hope is to find a place to hide within the marsh. Realising that the marsh to the North is closest, he heads that way. As he runs, he remembers stories he was told about breathing through the reeds while hiding under water. With this in mind, he hopes to find a patch of marsh with water deep enough to hide him. Clinging to this vain hope, Jon tries to focus his mind on not tripping on the assorted obstacles in his path.

So engrossed in watching his footsteps, Jon nearly stumbles into a dark figure, silhouetted against the sky, the moon rising behind him. Jon, still gripped by fear of his father, lets out an involuntary yelp of terror.

The figure is clearly not his father though - tall and thin, and wrapped in a threadbare woollen cloak. A dishevelled, well worn hat sits on his head, although a few strands of long pale hair escape from beneath the brim, and lash against the figures face in the wind.

"Here, lad. Mind your step" His accent is thick with the brogue of the Fens." You'd best come with me - I know a place you can hide." He strides off, his long legs carrying him easily over the tussocks of grass found at the edge of the Marsh. The man glances back at Jon, who is still standing, hesitating on whether to trust this stranger.

"Come on - He'll have you this time for certain, else."

Jon waits for moment, trying to figure out his options. Carry on into the marsh - not an idea that appeals to Jon, but then until now it was his only option - or follow this man who seems to be offering a way out of the hellish situation. Reasoning that even if this man did want to cause him harm, if he kept his wits about him, escape would not be a problem - after all, all he would be doing for now is following the man. Jon decides to take the man up on his offer and follows behind. At first Jon is very wary of the stranger, but after a short while, he begins to calm down - after all, you have got to be able to trust someone. May be this man will save Jon from the terrors his father has in store for him. With this thought in his mind, Jon finds new resolve to carry him on even though his legs are tired, cut and battered.

The stranger leads Jon into the Marsh a small way, and then towards a large rotting tree-stump, a casualty of the ever-expanding marsh. Beneath the roots of the immense remains there is a cavity, just big enough for two to crouch in.

"Hurry!" says the stranger. "They'll be here soon" He gestures to the younger man for him to enter first, and then follows, using his drab cloak to cover the mouth of the cavity. Jon crouches, stiff and aching in the cold damp and dark hole, reviewing the last hour. It seems that the life he had before is rapidly slipping from his memory. He can barely remember who he is, and doesn't know how he got here. Anything before takes on an unreal quality, like is a dream. Just the exhaustion, he tells himself. He attempts instead to begin conversation with his mysterious benefactor, and he is rudely hushed. Then he realises why - His helper's sharper ears had picked up the sound of the pursuers before Jon himself heard them. The voices are all too familiar

"He's gone t' the Marsh" - The harsh tones of his father.

"He'll perish f' sure!" - His uncle

"Forget him, Father. We must find another, before the Moon sets. He'll die, on his own, in the dark. We'll look for his body in the morn." - The nasal whine of his elder brother.

"Very well. Back to the Pyre. We'll stop at Lannwich on the way..."

As they start to move off, the stranger whispers "You can't run all your life, lad." Grabbing Jon by the wrist he stands up, yanking the scrawny man out of the hole. "Here he is! This is the one you seek!" The group of torch-bearing men turn in surprise, and their leader, Jon's father, pushes his way to the front.

"Aye. Here he is indeed" The cruel man still wears his devil's mask, though Jon can see his rictus of a grin through the poorly woven straw, and smell the man's foul breath as he leans towards his prey. He reaches out a liver-spotted hand and grabs the other wrist in a vice-like grip. The stranger lets go of Jon's right hand.

"Grab the snitch as well," the old man leers, not looking up, but instead staring at his son like a weasel stares at a rabbit. "Golgoroth will feed well tonight!"

However, the stranger is gone, like breath into the wind. Confusion follows as the peasants look for him, and the leader becomes more and more irate at his followers incompetence.

Jon sees a chance. While his father is distracted he may be able to wriggle free. Or, he could take the advice of his betrayer, and stand up for himself.

Enraged at the stranger for the betrayal and at himself for trusting him, something snaps. All the fear drains out of Jon and a red haze descends over him. As one of the men grabs Jon's arm, Jon twist his arm putting the man in an arm lock. Bringing his free arm down on the man's locked arm, he smashes into the elbow joint, breaking it cleanly. With a shriek of pain, the man looks at his arm in horror and falls to the ground. The band of men seem stunned for a moment at what has happened. Taking advantage of the pause, Jon charges towards his father. Grabbing him by the head and pulling it down to his rising knee, Jon lays his father out cold. Then the band recover from the momentary pause and move in to capture Jon. It seems like a desperate situation and desperate situations call for desperate measure. The first man swings a torch at Jon who deftly blocks it and spins in hitting the man with a reverse elbow strike to the ribs. As the man crumbles, a second steps in and receives a lit torch in the face for his troubles. Realising that Jon is not going to go quietly, the mob falls back a step, all except one man, the largest of the lot. Jon strikes out with the torch, but the man just side steps and disarms Jon. Jon steps back as the large man smashes the torch over his knee. Jon, leaps forward again trying to connect his knee with the man's head. This time however, his opponent blocks the knee and catches Jon with a rising elbow blow to the head. Reeling back from this blow, it dawns on Jon that this could be it, this could be his last day alive. Even with this thought in mind, Jon leaps in again to what must surely be his death.

The remaining men pile onto Jon. He struggles and squirms, managing to crack a skull with a thrust from his foot, but there are too many. He is eventually immobilised. Blood flows in copious amounts from a cut on his forehead, making his eyes sting as it runs down his face. Grasped on both sides, with a third man sitting on his legs, Jon awaits the end. He sees his father standing groggily to his feet, still bemused by the blow to his head. The witch-mask has slipped, and the man reaches up and tosses it to one side. Jon is looking at a face he knows too well - his own, before his disfigurement. As he watches, and as the man approaches, four huge parallel rents appear on the face, matching the marks that Jon received during his apprenticeship at the hand of a demon. The face then reddens, and starts to squirm, as maggots erupt from swollen blisters and crawl over the purulent flesh.

This is the face of Salamandrus scholae Tremendi, the face that even its owner dares not look upon. The hideous visage looms closer, leering obscenely as it does so. Jon tries desperately to escape, but the chuckling cultists have him firm. The others move in, gloating, for they know what is going to happen next. Jon's father now stands over his son's prone body. Jon can smell the rotting flesh and hear the soft squelches of feeding maggots. He opens his mouth to scream - and his torturer swoops, grasping the terrified man's tongue between his teeth, and biting hard. The man's wild eyes are all that Jon sees as a stabbing pain in his side tells him that he has just become Golgoroth's latest sacrifice. Everything fades away to a crimson red, and Jon's final sensation in this world is his life's blood gushing from the dagger wound in his side.

All is dark, and very cold. Jon involuntarily shivers. He then realises he is not dead. The noise of the mob has gone. He cautiously opens his eyes. It is night-time still, but he is looking up at the boughs of trees from where he lays on the grass. Sitting up, he realises he is in a thick, virgin forest, a type not found within 20 miles of Lannwich - indeed, there are very few trees in his part of Anglia. He is in a small clearing, next to a camp fire. It is a cloudless night, and the stars are shining brightly. Reflexively, Jon searches for the moon, but fails to find it.

"So, You're up then." The voice is startling, for Jon was sure that he was alone. Looking towards the source of the sound, Jon can see, at the edge of the light cast by the small fire, a human figure. As he watches, it stands, and moves into the light. It is the mysterious stranger that betrayed him to his father. He has a knife in his hand, with which he is dextrously paring out the bad bits of an apple. Jon is unsure whether to attack the man for his perfidy, demand to know where he is, or run as fast as he can.

Edging away, Jon stands up and says "What the hell is going on and where the hell am I? One moment you are helping me to escape certain death, and the next you are giving me up to it. To top it all you advise me to attack a mob of angry men who promptly kill me .... or what ever they did. So before I start getting the same foolish ideas again, would you kindly answer my questions." Jon stands there shaking a bit and looking straight at the stranger by the fire, waiting for his reply.

The stranger smiles an enigmatic smile, adjusting his hat so that his eyes are thrown into shadow.

"You have a right to demand answers, but I am not here to tell you things you can work out for yourself. What do YOU think is going on? What do you remember. Given that, where do YOU think you are?"

He takes a seat on a split log by the fire, and swallows what remains of the apple. He then picks up a stick and starts to stoke the fire. "There is no need to fear me - Fear is gone now. Take a seat - perhaps you would like to eat something? He reaches beneath his coat and brings out a brace of hares, which he begins to skin.

"Now, lad. You were about to give yourself some answers..."

Jon sits down on the ground and scratches his head.

"Well, this is all obviously not real in the sense that I should be dead now if it was. Therefore I would think that this is some sort of test and that you are a kind of guide who pushes me in the right direction - sometimes literally.

"As to what is being tested, so far is it how much I trust a complete stranger, how fast I can run and how easily I can get myself killed - or not as the case may be.

"As to where I am, taking what I have already said to be true, it does not matter where I am, or when I am - this is not reality after all. As I do not know what the test is, I cannot say if I have completed it, failed, or succeeded.

"Of course there are two other explanations that I can think of. The first is that I am dead and that what ever is going on is some sort of afterlife, and the second is that this is all a bad dream. If only"

The stranger moves around the fire and crouches down to where Jon is sat, putting his arm around him in a comforting manner.

"Now, Now, lad. Don't get disheartened. You are right on three counts but drastically wrong on the forth. This IS a test, AND a dream AND the afterlife, but it most definitely IS real. You are living the dream - or not, as you are dead. This is a test, because everything you do has far-reaching consequences, moreso than in the material world. For this is the World of Dream, the Birth of Possibility. You stand on the Web of Wyrd, and are subject to its vagaries like you never have been before."

He stands suddenly, staring into the fire, his eyes glowing red in the reflected flames. Jon looks to where the stranger is looking, and sees a movement in the fire. One of the logs has split, and from the hollow interior crawls a small lizard. It is black, with irregular yellow splotches, and walks cautiously over the white-hot coals, seemingly unaffected by the fire. The little creature reaches the edge of the fire, and potters out, a little unsteady on its feet. It blinks twice, swinging its head from side to side, and then totters away from the fire into the undergrowth, steaming in the cold night air.

"Though I walk through the Fires of Muspellheim, I emerge unscathed with Thee at my side" The stranger seems to be quoting, whispering the words softly to the cool night air.

"An omen" He says, louder this time. Decisively, he starts to pack his few belongings into a bag. "Fear not, lad. The Omen predicts triumph despite perils. It is a good sign. I am Alf, and, yes, I am your guide. Where do you want to go? What do you want to Do? This is the Birth of Possibility. Which strand of the Web shall we climb?"

"I do not pretend to understand what is going on, but as you are my guide, I shall trust you - though why I have decided this is beyond me. If as it seems we can go any where and attempt to do anything, then I have but two goals for my life - or death or what ever. These are firstly to free my parents from the clutches of Hell and secondly to fight Hell and its dark forces. So you know what I want to do, as to where I what to go, I have no idea where we are or where to go to accomplish these two tasks, so I shall leave that up to you, Alf"

"I'm afraid that I know little of the Christian Hell. Punishment after death features little in the Cycles of MY people, unless you count boredom as punishment for not reaching the Valour Hall. Niflheim is the place where all those who die an ignoble death go, a dreary place of mists and ice, where nothing happens. The wicked get chewed by the Corpse-Tearer, but it is over soon. I am told that this place of Punishment called Hell is in the Land of Mystery, as far beyond this place as we are beyond the Land of Things; And having just escaped that land, I feel you may be unwilling to return."

Seeing the look of utter confusion on Jon's face, Alf tries again. "You see, the world is like this. There are three Places - The Land of Mystery, the Land of Dreams and the Land of Things. The first is incomprehensible to man, but is the source of the others. Herein lies the Gods and Heroes, and is where Legends are Born.

"Then there is the Land of Dreams, where we stand now. `Dreams' is a bad name, for things are more real here than where you were born; But it is the land of Possibility. All things that WERE and SHALL BE are here. This is a place of transit - all that is here is on its way to the Land of Things, where it will BE, or to the Land of Mystery, because it HAS BEEN. Some things get lost, and remain here for as long as it takes for them to reach their destination. Now you accidentally entered the Land of Mystery, and I presume that you want to return to the Land of Things. Your death enabled you to cross the boundary, for Birth and Death overcome all boundaries. We must find a root of Yggdrasil that allows you to climb down to Midgard once more."

He smiles once more, having finished his packing.

"Do you understand me now? Perhaps you would like to ask some questions as we walk?"

He strides off into the forest with long loping strides, a pace which Jon finds hard to keep up with AND avoid breaking his neck by tripping over a protruding root.

Looking almost as confused as before, Jon tries to make some sense of what has just been said. After a minute or two of deep thought, Jon says "So, what you are saying is that What is to Be is created - if that is the correct term - in the Land of Mystery and then passes through the Land of Dreams to get to the Land of Things. It then happens in the Land of Things, passes back though the Land of Dreams and ends up where is started, in the Land of Mystery.

A strange concept, but I shall accept it for now. The most worrying thing that you have said is that I am dead. If so, then why am I here and why are you suggesting that I go back? - not that I don't want to go back - but I was always under the impression that death was it, afterwards you went to Heaven or Hell and then lived out the rest of you time there. But not only am I not in Heaven or Hell, but you are suggesting that I return to life. So what happened that sent me here and not to Heaven?

"And would you mind not saying that I am dead, it has such a ring of finality about it. Let us call it 'moved on'."

"I said that you were dead because you were killed. I might as easily have said that you were born - it amounts to the same thing. When you die (in the Land of Things), you come here first as a spirit, then pass on to your final reward in the Land of Mystery - be that Heaven, Hell or Valholl.

"You have just performed the process in reverse - you died in the Land of Mystery, are travelling through the Land of Dreams and are heading for the Land of Things. Perhaps `thehd' would be a better term for the process"

He pronounces the strange word phonetically, and looks over his shoulder, a wolfish grin on his face, black eyes glinting with mirth.

At that moment, events conspire against Jon and he stumbles, turning his ankle as he does so. Alf stops and returns to the spot where Jon fell, examining the ground with utmost care.

"Show me where you tripped!", he demands, voice hissing with urgency. Jon limps back to the spot, and examines the ground for irregularities, annoyed at his guides lack of concern for his hurt, and preoccupation with irrelevancies. There is nothing at the spot which could cause one to trip, but Jon distinctly felt something in front of his ankle when he fell.

Upon being told this, Alf's face wrinkles with concern. "The Spirits are aware of you. You carry a heavy burden on your soul, and that attracts them like flies around a corpse. Now, visits from spirits is usually beneficial, but here in the Land of Dreams it is not so, many of the spirits have never seen a spirit-skin, and may do things to you in the name of curiosity that you would not wish to occur. Because your life-force has been tainted by the Land of Mystery, you are a double enigma - the spirits here either want to go there or have just come from there, so you are like a beacon in the mist."

Alf reaches into his satchel and withdraws some broad leaves. "Remove your boot - I will see to that ankle." Once the ankle is bare, Alf winds the leaves tightly around the sprained joint.

"Things like this will continue to occur, unless we clean your soul. Ultimately, you may be hindered from returning to the Land of Things. However, with me as your guide, it may be possible. The other alternative is much more dangerous. We will cleanse the taint from your life-force, allowing the trip back to the Land of Things be relatively unhindered. The choice must be yours, but I will warn you - once a path has been undertaken, there is no turning back until the end is reached."

Jon sits for a few minutes, looking at his bound ankle. "I do not pretend to understand the ins and outs of the situation, but it seems to me that my main priority should be to get back to the Land of Things. I certainly do not wish to spend any more time here than I have to - not that your company is not to my liking, but this is an alien land to me. Therefore, I think the best option is to go for the cleansing of my soul. I don't like the concept, but I am sure that you would not propose something that would be harmful to me. Thus I shall leave my self in your capable hands."

"Your trust in me is touching, but I think you have me wrong. I have indeed suggested something to you that is dangerous, and potentially harmful, but then in our lives is not everything?"

He clears a patch of ground in front of him, carefully stripping away the undergrowth so that bare soil is showing. This he flattens down, and then with his knife, starts to draw symbols into the dirt with short sharp strokes. When he has finished there are four rows of eight figures, and then a symbol on its own.

"These are the Runes of Woden. Are you familiar with them?"

Jon shakes his head.

"Very well, I have not time to explain fully, but suffice is to say that the most important (and the most powerful) of them is this", And he points with his knife to a patch of bare ground next to the rune-rows.

"But there is nothing there!" exclaims Jon

"Ah!, but there is. It is the Rune of Wyrd, the Blank Rune. Wyrd is all around us, and cannot be summarised in a simple figure. It is too vast to fit within the lines and curves of a rune. Wyrd is a web. Wyrd is all time, and all things. This is the power of a sorcerer - to understand the meaning and the use of the Wyrd-strands that permeate all things. Wyrd is the source of life-force, which provides the power of your soul. Your life-force breathes out the spirit-skin that we see, and call a body. We must first loosen the fibres of your spirit-skin so that you can feel the strands of Wyrd acting on your Life-force. We must then boost your life-force so that your soul is strong, and attracts many spirits. Hopefully, one will covert your soul, and seize it. They will devour the taint leaving the soul clean. We will then get it back by projecting a shadow-soul into the abode of the spirit, and make an exchange.

"First, then, we must hunt. Prepare yourself."

As Jon cautiously stands on his ankle, he discovers that it feels as good as new. His head is still spinning with what he has been told - they are going to purposefully give his soul to a spirit? What if that spirit doesn't want to give it back? What if the spirit that takes it is a demon? For that matter, Alf might be a demon himself, suggesting that a mortal should give his soul away. Doubts fill the mind of the young man. But what should he do?

After pondering on the problem for a while, Jon comes up with a rather shaky line of reasoning. He reasons that if Alf is a Demon, then he is screwed whether he goes along with this procedure or not. Therefore he might as well trust Alf. Given this, then if Alf is of the opinion that the spirit will perform the required tasks and give Jon his soul back, then Jon might as well accept this advise and go ahead with the cleansing.

Clinging to his reasoning, Jon says "Okay lets do it then".

"Done then!" Exclaims the man, slapping his satchel closed. "Let us be off."

With his usual long strides, Alf proceeds through the forest a little way, until a stream is reached. Growing by the waters edge is a stand of young ash trees. Alf removes a waxed tarp from his bag and unfolds it. He then gestures for Jon to step forth, drawing his knife. "You are about to take from the tree, so you must give it some of your life-force to replace its loss." He places the knife blade on his left palm, makes a fist and then quickly withdraws the blade. Within seconds, blood wells out from between the mans fingers. He hands the blade to Jon. Jon takes a deep breath - he has never been that brave, and blood-sacrifices remind him too much of his family. However, he has resolved to trust Alf, so he mimics what the man has just done, squeezing his eyes tight in preparation for the pain. In his temerity, Jon fails to cut deeply, and Alf tells him to cut once more. This time the cold blade sinks deeper into the flesh, and the blood runs free.

"Do as I do", commands the stranger, as he walks closer to the tree, allowing blood to drip onto the ground at the roots of the tree. Then, with the fore-finger of his right hand, Alf draws three runes on the bark. As he draws them, he explains their meaning "This is the rune of sacrifice. When Woden hung on the tree to get the runes for mankind, Gar was the spear that pierced his side. This is the rune of protection. Eolh will guide your steps on this journey. This is the rune of man. It will show the spirits that you are on a quest, and are not to be trifled with."

Jon's version of the runescript was shaky, and a poor copy, but Alf seemed satisfied. He hands Jon a strip of hareskin, to stem the flow of blood.

"Now you must climb the tree, and cut 9 withies of ash. Pass them down to me - they must not touch the ground." When this is done, Alf picks up one of the staves from the tarp, and trims it to about 12" in length. He splits it lengthwise, discarding one half. He then half-peels the stave of bark. Squatting down, he deftly carves four runes onto the flat surface of the stave with the point of his knife, and shows it to Jon.

"You must copy this." He prepares a pile of staves, then passes one to Jon, along with his knife. The first attempt is a mess. The second and third are not much better. The fourth is passable, and with a few corrections, Jon carves a fifth. Alf is finally satisfied with Jon's sixth attempt. The runes that Jon has drawn are still crude when compared to Alf's, and lack that confidence that only comes with time. Taking Jon's sixth stave, Alf cuts a V-shaped notch in one end. "This is the mouth. Through this, the runestave will talk to the spirits." He hands it back to Jon "Keep this with you at all times." Jon tucks the stave into his tunic. "You now have protection. Next you must have the blessing of the Goddess. We must seek her out. We are looking for clover - keep your eyes open as we travel." Alf packs up the tarp, and gets Jon to bury the practice staves, after carefully snapping each one in two. He then sets off into the forest once more.

It does not take Alf long to locate a patch of clover in the forest - a quiet glade, lit with the light of the early morning sun and filled with the drowsy buzzing of bees.

Alf signals for quiet and then whispers to Jon

"Step forth into the clearing and call out to the Goddess. If your words are honeyed enough, she will come. Displease her, and you will know."

Wetting his lips in anticipation, Jon asks his guide what the name of the Goddess is.

Alf just smiles that infuriatingly enigmatic smile "She is the Goddess. She has no need of a name."

Jon nervously steps out into the clearing. He falls to his knees and looks skywards. "Goddess, I beseech Thee, hear my words. You are wise and kind, and I am but a poor lost child in need of your divine aid. I am in danger here and seek to return to my world. Therefore, I implore you, help a poor child to return to safety. I beg of you, give me your blessing for this quest, so that my spirit may be purified and I may return to my home. I have but little to give you, but that which I do, I humbly offer.

Jon is suddenly aware of a low humming noise. The bees, which before were visiting the flowers as is normal on a warm spring day, have now coalesced into a swarm. There are a huge number of insects, and the swarm is over six foot in height. It slowly moves inexorably towards him, the angry humming of the bees getting louder and louder. Jon anxiously glances over his shoulder for advice, but Alf is no longer in the shadow of the trees. Jon is reminded of Alf's words about displeasing the Goddess. Jon breaks into a sweat, not able to think clearly, he starts to mumble words such as "forgive me", "I am but a poor child", "I meant no wrong". As he is mumbling, he also bows and slowly starts to shuffle backwards. He keeps a close eye on the swarm, trying to judge its intended actions - ready to run head long into the woods.

The swarm moves towards the young man, picking up speed. The noise of the bees rises in pitch slightly, a response to Jon's fear. As he turns to run, he hears Alf's voice bark out "Stop!", and he stops dead in his tracks, and becomes enveloped by the swarm. The insects land on him in huge numbers, crawling over his entire body. The bees feel like huge fingers, gently caressing his skin, every now and then probing deep, with a sensation like being poked by a finger. The humming has subsided somewhat. Over his initial revulsion for the situation, Jon his able to relax as the apid fingers gently but firmly massage every inch of his skin. He feels strangely warm inside. suddenly he realizes that the bees have gone, and he is standing naked in a clearing. Alf comes over to him and slaps him on the back. The slaps hurt, as if Jon had had too much sun, although his skin looked unblemished. "The Goddess has loosened your fibres - you are ready to lose your soul. Don't bother getting dressed - you'll only have to take off your clothes again soon."

Alf leads Jon a short way into the woods, until a shady area relatively clear of undergrowth is reached. Handing Jon a bundle of birch twigs, they proceed to sweep the area clean of leaf -litter, until only bare earth shows. Alf then reaches into his satchel and pulls out a large square of dark blue cloth, which he spreads out on the ground, checking the sun so it is aligned with the points of the compass. The cloth is divided into 9 smaller squares with white thread, and embroidered with runes. Alf tells Jon to sit cross-legged in the centre square, facing the north. He places a small object he calls a spirit-trap in each of the corner squares, made of red twine and a blown egg. "The idea is to attract the spirits to us, but they must come from the right direction. We also want to get the right kind of spirits - an evil spirit may run off with your soul and refuse to give it back. This way we can make it more likely to call a benevolent spirit."

"You must now invoke the elements. First, Fire to the south." Jon trembles - for the past...How long has it been?...He has been able to forget that he was a sorcerer by the name of Salamandrus. Now this man was asking him to use his most hated arts, here, of all places, where magic is most unpredictable. Nevertheless, he mutters the words of a Creo Ignem spell, expecting to get no more than a candle flame - usually all he can managed. However, the fluid vis for this spell flows quickly, almost brutally into his body as his hand ignites in a blaze of light and fire.

Alf tells him to put the fire down in the southern quarter, and he lays a rod of fresh-cut pine next to it. The fire burns clean, consuming no fuel and producing no smoke. He next orders the creation of Air to the East, Water to the north and Earth to the west, proceeding widdershins around the central square in which Jon sits.

A little shocked by the experience, Salamandrus gathers his wits again and begins the small chant of Creo Auram. Momentarily, he is paralysed by the shock from the magic flowing through his body. It flow straight to his hand and a small glob of light forms. Within, Salamandrus can see the cracking bolts of lightning jumping around. Carefully, he places the ball in the East corner, takes the proffered chalice from Alf's hands and once more begins to chant. A little more prepared, Salamandrus is not taken of guard by the almost weightless feeling that comes over him. Having made an error in the spells power, Salamandrus fills the container and manages to water a few plants as well. While moving the chalice to the North end, Salamandrus notices that there are staring currents within the water which are not due to the movement of the vessel. Finally, Salamandrus begins the chant for Creo Terram. An abrupt feeling of extreme heaviness grabs him. Almost buckling at the knees, he manages to finish the spell and produce a large hunk of rock. Pleased with his efforts this time, he sets about rolling the rock to the west corner. Turning to Alf, smiling, says "What's next?"

Alf finishes the sacred space with a long bladed knife, placed carefully next to the crackling ball of lightning, a small platter of salt placed before the chalice, and a patterned disc of beaten bronze in the West quarter.

"Now, lad, we wait."

He sits down to Jon's left, keeping outside the sacred space defined by the cloth. The fire crackles and hisses behind Salamandrus, spreading its warmth over his bare back. Apart from this, the forest is quiet and still. The two men wait in silence for the best part of an hour. Alf seems to have nodded off, but then he suddenly sits upright.

"They're here" he says in a matter-of-fact voice.

Very soon after Alf's announcement, Jon can see a number of figures looming out of the darkness. Many are indistinct, but many are people that Jon recognizes.

"The spirits want your soul - they have already tasted it, see that they take images from your mind for their forms."

The spirits are arrayed before the young Magus. One bears the gaunt features of Bishop Orris, another has the hateful features of Jon's father. One, face cast in shadow is the image of Imanitos, a shadowy magus at Salamandrus's home covenant Malinbois, whereas as black-faced, white-haired demon must resemble Peregrine (a famed demon-hunter who Salamandrus never met). The only other face that Jon recognises is that of Mandator, a third Magus of Malinbois. The rest are hideously twisted faces of pinched black skin, which gibber and drool in the background.

Alf says "You must choose the one that will take your soul. Pour the salt into the cup before you and take a sip, then offer it to your choice. They can then penetrate the sacred circle. Everything depends on your choice - remember that these are not the people whose faces they bear, they are spirits, but they took their images from your memories of the original wearers of those faces."

Jon scratches his chin and tries to work out what will happen with each spirit. He decides that each spirit must represent some type of action based on his memory of the person. He dismisses the 'Imanitos' spirit as a bad idea - he has had some bad experiences with him in the past. Jon is tempted by the 'Peregrine' spirit, after all he has been his idol for some time. But thinking of his lineage, he decides that it might not be a safe option. Jon also dismisses his 'father' spirit out of hand. Thus he is left with the 'Bishop Orris' spirit and the 'Mandator' spirit. Obviously, Jon thinks, Bishop Orris will represent some kind of Holy action - but what kind? - he did after all attack the covenant. Then there is 'Mandator'. As far as Jon can remember, Mandator was a great magus who's knowledge of aura's was unsurpassed. He, as far as Jon can remember, was a nice chap - with an over inflated ego maybe. Thus Jon pours the salt into the cup and takes a sip. Hesitantly, he takes the cup over to he array of spirits and hands it to

- tension mounts -

Mandator!

[Then realises that the character was played by Dave and kills himself!]

As the spirit grabs the chalice and greedily drinks, Jon suddenly feels very lightheaded. The forest around him gets blurry and indistinct as he plunges into unconsciousness.

When he wakes up, he is again in unfamiliar circumstances. He is in a meadow of ripening corn, on his back, staring at the sky, which seems an unnaturally deep shade of blue. There is not a single cloud to be seen, and the sun warms Jon's naked body. A gentle breeze ripples through the corn. Jon feels very drowsy, but then the last day of events suddenly come back to him, and he sits bolt upright. The corn is too tall to see over, so he stands. His body feels like it is made of lead, and he can feel that his skin is very warm - it is not only the suns effects that are inducing this drowsiness.

Rolling hills stretch out in all directions, all covered with a golden expanse of corn. Jon's eyes are blurred, and the whole scene takes on an unreal feel to it - everything is yellow and blue....He starts to fall, but manages to regain his balance. At the bottom of the hill that he is on at the moment, Jon can see a small cottage. There is smoke emerging from the chimney, and Jon decides to head for that. In a stumbling, shambling gait that is all that Jon can muster, the cottage seems a whole world away, but somehow he manages to reach it. He can hear the sound of a woman's voice singing, effortlessly reaching the highest notes of a simple peasant ditty. The dream-like quality starts to overtake Jon once more, and to clear his head he coughs loudly and bangs his hand against the door-jamb. The pain snaps him out of it, but his actions have drawn attention. Standing before him is a vision of beauty. Her hair is the colour of the corn, and reaches beyond her slim waist. Her eyes rival the sky in their depth of colour, set in the pale, smooth skin of her face. She wears a simple peasants dress of cream linen, and holds a spindle in her hand. She smiles at Jon, with an enquiring look on her face.

Realising that he is naked, Jon blushes and attempt to cover himself with his hands. Clearing his throat and says "err .... I ....." and stumbles. Fortunately, the Woman catches him and helps him to stand up. "Thank you, could I come in and rest?" She helps him in and sits Jon down on the bed and goes to get a cloak for Jon. Covering himself up with the cloak, Jon says "Thank you. I am not quite sure how I got here, where here is or who you are, but thank you. I have just had a rather disturbing experience and I think I need a little rest. Could I impose on you to let me stay and recover my wits and strength?"

"Of course you can stay, and really Jon, it is no imposition." Her voice is like liquid honey, and acts like a balm to his confused mind. She hands him a bowl of hot broth. "It's mutton and carrot - your favourite." The broth is quite delicious, and while he eats it, Jon muses to himself about this woman. She seems to know him very well, yet he is sure that he has never met her before. Nevertheless, there is something acutely familiar about her, an ease that he feels around her. Finally he asks the question. She laughs, a sound like musical bells, and takes his hand in hers. "Of course I know you Jon. I am why you are here. I am what you came to seek. I am your Soul..."

The world goes abruptly dark, and Jon can hear the noise of the wind. He is back on the mountain…